Sasha peered closely into the river. ‘Mem, look,’ she pointed. ‘Just over there. There’s something red in the ice.’ Mem could just make out a small scarlet patch. Sasha had put one foot flat on the frozen river, her hands held out for balance like a tightrope walker. She took another step out and she was moving, light as a snowflake, across the river. ‘Sasha, be careful!’ Mem moved closer to the edge but did not venture further. ‘Come back, it’s not safe!’ ‘Oh Mem, come and see this. It’s a little robin red-breast! Oh Mem, it’s so sad. He’s frozen in the river.’ ‘Get off the ice, please,’ Mem pleaded. Sasha was now down on all fours her hands scraping away at the surface. Then she stood and slowly crept her way toward the bank. When her friend was safely back on the path Mem let out a breath she had not realised she had been holding. ‘For God’s sake Sasha, the ice could have broken.’ Sasha shrugged and held out her closed fist. ‘Look at this.’ She opened her hand and in her palm lay two tiny orange feathers. ‘Aren’t they darling?’ Mem reached out and stroked them. They were icy cold and tipped with frost. They looked like exquisite little jewels, almost red against Sasha’s white skin. They were beginning to thaw and minute beads of moisture glistened along their edges. ‘Here, you have one,’ Sasha offered. Mem picked one up between her fingers and brushed it across her cheek. It left a chilly trail.